


The Night Artemus Gordon Came Home

by nothingeverlost



Category: Wild Wild West (TV)
Genre: Family Bonding, M/M, Post-Series, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-20 15:24:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11923743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingeverlost/pseuds/nothingeverlost
Summary: “Of course I came.”  He sniffed the air.  “And just in time too; I think something is burning.”When Jim's wife dies of course Artie comes to lend a hand and help his friend grieve.  Jim is his best friend; the fact that he's always desired more than friendship is something he just has to deal with on his own.





	1. Something's Burning

**Author's Note:**

> A slow burn that will eventually lead to Jim/Artie. I wanted to play with the idea of one of them getting married, and having a family. And how they find each other after that.
> 
> Plus Jim and Artie co-parenting just makes me happy.

The telegram found him in the Yukon Territory. Artie started out immediately, of course, but it took the better part of ten days to reach the closest train station, and another four days to travel from the US border to the southernmost part of California. The funeral had taken place more than a week before he arrived. Later he would stop at the small cemetery and pay his respects, but first he headed straight for the edge of town. Even being town sheriff Jim couldn’t stand being hemmed in. He needed his space.

“I’m so sorry.” James was the one to answer the door, a towel tucked into the waistband of his pants. Dinner preparations, it seemed, were underway.

“You didn’t have to come, but I’m glad you did.” His friend looked tired, dark circles under his eyes. Once again Artie cursed the fact that it had taken so long to travel. Why had be been so far away when Jim needed him? The hug between them was brief; there was a barrier between them greater than the one Artie imposed on himself.

“Of course I came.” He sniffed the air. “And just in time too; I think something is burning.”

It was the most natural of things, to step into the kitchen and take over. The chicken was salvageable, though whatever was in the pot was lost. Potatoes, fortunately, were only peeled and would still work for cooking and mashing. Within minutes he had an apron on and a whisk in his hand. There were enough eggs to make a custard for dinner. “Pull up a chair and sit, James my boy, unless there’s something else you should be doing.”

“Ella’s taking a nap and Sam’s at the neighbor’s.” Jim sunk into the chair gratefully. “I’d forgotten how much I hated cooking.”

“You have many talents, but this still isn’t one of them.” The kitchen was decidedly more feminine than the one they’d shared on the Wanderer. There was lace on the windows and a painting of flowers on the wall. Teresa had loved flowers; the garden outside the back door was a testament to the time she was willing to spend to make them grow. She had been a patient woman, which was good because anyone who wanted to make a relationship work with Jim had needed a healthy amount of patience. And humor. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I lost her, Artie. Does the how of it really matter?” He sounded resigned. Artie wondered if he’d missed the anger or if that was yet to come.

“Papa?” The small voice was heard a moment before the little girl appeared in the doorway, dark curls in more disarray than a nap probably caused. Artie couldn’t imagine that doing his daughter’s hair was among Jim’s talents either.

“There’s my favorite princess.” He scooped up the girl before she took more than one more step into the room. “But you’ve forgotten your crown today, princess Ella.”

“I don’t have a crown unka Artie.” Small arms wrapped around his neck. “Missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He tried to visit at least twice a year, but sometimes when he was farther away it was a convenient excuse for stretching out the time between visits. Teresa had been a good kind woman who treated him like family, and Artie loved Jim’s children more than almost anyone on Earth. He missed them all when he wasn’t around. He missed Jim just as much when he was around. It was hard to say what was more painful, not being partners or knowing that the one person he loved the most would never even know how he felt. 

“I’m going to stay for a good long visit. As long as you need me,” he said pointedly while looking at Jim. “Now my darling girl why don’t you keep your papa company while I finish up our supper?”

Supper would have been a quiet affair if not for Artie telling stories in hopes of distracting and amusing the other occupants of the table. Sam laughed once, and Jim at least smiled. He’d accomplished something. After supper he worked with Jim to get both kids into bed, Ella sleeping in the trundle pulled out from under her brother’s bed, leaving her room for Artie to sleep in when he was ready for sleep. Once they were tucked in some mutual unspoken agreement had them heading for the front porch. Artie stopped long enough to pour a whisky for each of them.

“They seem to be holding up.” The last time he’d visited he’d seen hints of Jim’s gallantry in Sam; the boy had held up his small fists and challenged an insolent cowboy to a fight for pushing his mother on the sidewalk. He was as fiercely protective of his family as Jim was. Ella was still young enough to spend most of her time in public with a hand on mama’s skirt when not riding her papa’s shoulders. Teresa’s lost had to be a blow to them both.

“Ella doesn’t really understand what’s going on. I’m afraid she’s waiting for Teresa to return, no different than last year when she went to visit her abuela. And Sam won’t talk about it.” Jim looked out to the edge of the property, almost completely engulfed in darkness now that the sun was set.

“A stubbornly silent West who doesn’t like to talk about what’s bothering him? I can’t imagine.” Artie cast a look sideways. Sadly Jim didn’t even seem to hear him. He worried about both West men, his best friend and his godson. “It’s lucky I have some experience with getting people to talk. Maybe I’ll have him take me for a horseback ride tomorrow.”

They sat in silence for the better part of an hour. It was hard to bite his tongue for that long but he knew that Jim was more likely to talk if he was given some space first.

“I am glad you’re here,” was the only thing Jim said before heading up to bed. Artie watched him go, but stayed put for another quarter of an hour playing with his empty whiskey glass. He was too restless to think of sleep, despite the days of travel behind him. When he went inside he locked the door after himself and lit a lantern to take up with him. On the table in the hall where he’d found both lantern and matches there was a picture he’d seen before, taken not long after Ella had been born. Teresa held the babe in a blanket, a pint sized Samuel standing next to her chair. Behind them Jame West looked down at his family.


	2. A Promise Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was a spitting image of her mama, except for the eyes that never quite decided if they were blue or green. Jim West’s eyes looks back at him from the small girl’s face. “Thank you for letting me sleep in your bed last night.”

Jim woke up the same way he had for two weeks; alone in a bed meant for two. The third night he’d tried to sleep in the middle of the bed, but he’d woken up on the left side, leaving plenty of room from someone to join him.

He hated the bed for not having anyone else in it. He hated the room that was too quiet; his wife had never needed coffee in the morning to make her cheerful. He hated that the smell of her was already beginning to fade.

If it wasn’t for his children he’d pack up a couple of saddle bags and just leave. Find some work to do that would exhaust him too much to think about where his head rested each night. He’d tried drinking, once, but he’d heard Ella crying for her mama in the middle of the night. His breathe had smelled like whiskey as he’d held her, rubbing her back to help get her to fall asleep. It wasn’t a habit he wanted to start.

He only stayed in the bedroom for as long as it took to get dressed, carefully avoiding looking at the dresses hung up in the wardrobe. Teresa’s favorite, a cheerful yellow, was the only one missing. He’d buried her in it. Across from his room Sam’s door was half open; he could see Sam in his bed, still sound asleep. Ella had crawled from her trundle into his bed and was curled up next to her brother. He didn’t know how to make either one of them feel better, but at least Ella seemed to take some comfort in sharing space with her brother. Maybe he should have thought of that sooner, before Artie’s visit made it a necessity.

Artie’s door was closed. Jim would bet money that he was sleeping; he’d never been the early riser of the pair unless an assignment required it. That hadn’t seemed to change in the intervening years, though regretfully the few weeks a year he saw his friend wasn’t enough to know everything about him anymore. Not like when they’d practically lived in each other’s pockets.

He missed Artie. It wasn’t the same sharp pain he felt when he thought of Teresa, but it was something he’d lived with longer. When they’d first left the Service, Artie choosing to retire the same time Jim did, he’d harbored a hope that Artie might settle nearby. Might come for supper on Sundays. Might even find a way to continue working with him. He’d teased Artie with the idea of setting up a theatre in town, or a laboratory. He’d only stayed long enough for the wedding, and was gone when Jim had returned from a honeymoon trip to Mexico. The letters he sent occasionally were always from a new location. He hadn’t left to be anywhere specific; that might have been easier. If he’d entrenched himself in San Francisco, Chicago, or even DC Jim could have visited. Instead he only saw Artie when his friend chose to visit, and that was never often enough. Twice a year, at best, and sometimes only once. He hated those years.

Artie was here now, though, and it mattered. It didn’t erase any of his grief or guilt, but he felt like he could handle it a little better. He wasn’t alone, not like he’d been for the past two weeks. Artie had known he was needed, and he came.

“Thanks Artie,” Jim said softly before walking down the stairs.

II

Artie woke up with the very unusual feeling of someone else being in his bed. Considering there were probably a great many people that still wanted him dead he never felt comfortable falling asleep with someone he didn’t know. He never stayed in one place long enough to get to know a bed partner well enough to trust him. When he opened his eyes he found himself looking first at a porcelain doll, and then at a more likelike but no less adorable doll like creature. “Good morning Miss Ella.”

“Papa said I wasn’t to wake you up. I didn’t say nothing, you woked up all by yourself.” She still wore her nightgown, red flannel that looked cosy enough to keep her warm on the spring morning, but he still tugged the extra blanket at the foot of the bed up to cover her feet.

“You didn’t wake me up, princess. I’ll make sure your papa knows.” She was a spitting image of her mama, except for the eyes that never quite decided if they were blue or green. Jim West’s eyes looks back at him from the small girl’s face. “Thank you for letting me sleep in your bed last night.”

“You can sleep in my bed all the nights, unka Artie. I like sleepin’ with Sammy.” 

“I won’t need quite all the nights, but I’ll take you up on your kind offer for a little while.” At some point things would get back to a new normal for the West family. Once Jim figured out a new routine and the grieving began to subside he’d need to take a step back. He was still just visiting, even if it was for an undetermined length. “Now if you weren’t after getting your bed back why are you here?”

“Papa burns the bacon. Sammy said you could make it better and we wouldn’t have to eat the black stuff. And Sammy’s awake an’ dressed and I like sharing beds. Sometimes mama lets me share her bed after papa’s awake.” Artie’s heart skipped a beat. Jim had probably been right the night before. Ella was too young to understand just what being dead really meant.

“We’d best go save the bacon before your papa gets any ideas. Why don’t you let me get dressed and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” His saddlebags were still slung over a chair; he hadn’t unpacked the night before. It would be a week at least before his trunk caught up with him; he might need to do some shopping in town. For the moment he could manage a shirt and jeans with ease; he didn’t wear suits as often anymore. He didn’t bother with shoes. He found Sam in the kitchen, trying to pick up a cast iron pan high enough to get it on the stove.

“Let me help you a bit.” Even in another year Sam might manage, but the weight of the pan and the height of the stove conspired against him. “I heard a rumor you don’t like blackened bacon. It happens to be a house specialty in Louisiana.”

“Mama didn’t make it black and she was a real good cook.” Sam’s use of the past tense was just as painful as Ella’s use of the present.

“She was indeed. I always looked forward to her huevos rancheros and her enchiladas.” He was glad to know she’d kept her recipes written down in a book. They would be something for both children to treasure, and a way to help Ella keep memories of her mother alive. She was barely five, so young to lose her mother. He hadn’t been much older; his memories of his aunt were more vivid than anything he could remember of her mother. “Now about that bacon; should we make it crisp or soggy? If you don’t like black would you rather green or purple?”

He recruited Sam to help with the eggs, cracking them into a bowl and mixing them well with milk and some onions. He would feel better if he was doing something, Artie surmised. The bacon spit too much to risk it but eggs couldn’t go too wrong. He used the leftover mashed potatoes from the night before to make a sort of savory pancake. Jim came in through the back door just as they were setting the table. Ella made sure everyone had a fork while Sam poured milk for himself and his sister and Artie poured the coffee for himself and Jim. “Now how’s that for timing?”

“Everything smells delicious.” Jim headed for the sink for wash his hands. 

“And nuffin’s black, papa. Unka Artie cooks real good.” Ella had managed to dress herself, at least mostly. She’s come downstairs wearing a plaid dress, the sash trailing behind her. Artie had tied it in the neat bow. After breakfast he planned on tackling her hair.

“Your uncle Artie is a real gourmand, peanut. No one will ever go hungry as long as he’s around.” 

“You’ll make me blush,” Artie joked. He passed the plates around the table, watching as Sam helped himself and Jim made sure Ella’s plate was filled before helping himself. “So what are the plans for today?”

“I need to go into town for a few hours, if you don’t mind. I haven’t been to the office since…” Jim coughed, taking a sip of his coffee. “Leroy’s a decent deputy, but he’s young enough that there’s a few people who won’t listen to him. I need to check on him.”

“That’s fine, Jim. I’m sure we can keep ourselves amused.” It was the first visit when he hadn’t come prepared with gifts, but he if he couldn’t find a way to entertain two children then he wasn’t Artemus Gordon.

They spent the morning at the creek catching tadpoles. Artie offered a science lesson that went over Ella’s head, but Sam asked enough questions to make Artie grin. He was a clever boy. They made sandwiches for lunch and ate them on a blanket in the yard. Ella fell asleep with a full belly and Artie was loathe to move her. Instead he stretched out his legs in front of him and leaned back on the palms of his hands.

“I’m sorry about you mother, Sam. Sorry I couldn’t get here any sooner too.” Artie kept his voice pitched low.

“You couldn’t have done nothing. The doc couldn’t do nothing either. Pa said the doc had medicine but it didn’t make anything better.” Sam had a stick in one hand, and used the blade of his pocket knife to take off the bark. 

“Sometimes not even doctors know everything. You pa wasn’t lying, he just hoped it was the truth.” The worst thing he could imaging was Sam blaming Jim for the death. Sam needed his pa, and Jim would be devastated not to have his son’s trust. He fumbled for the right words to say to make the boy feel better. Sam spoke first.

“Pa says you know how to shoot a gun almost as good as he does. Can you teach me, uncle Artie?” The non sequitur surprised and worried Artie.

“Your pa will teach you when he thinks you’re ready.” He’d been almost twice as old as Sam when he’d first fired a gun, though he knew Jim had been younger. 

“I need to know now, in case anything happens.” The bark was free of the stick. Sam held the shorted end of the ‘L’ shape, making it look far too much like he was holding a gun. Artie had seen far too many boys holding guns in the war, too young to be fighting at sixteen and seventeen. Sam was only eight; he hoped the boy could hold onto his innocence for longer.

“Your pa will take care of you and your sister, Samuel. It’s his most important job.” It was why he’d given up the secret service, though Artie had never begrudged it. He’d mourned, but it was something he’s always anticipated happening.

“What if he can’t? What if he’s dead too?” Sam’s grip on the stick was so tight his knuckles were white. Artie closed his eyes for just a moment. So that’s what it was about.

“Nothing’s going to happen to your pa, Sam.” Artie covered the boy’s hand with his own, waiting a moment before gently prying the stick from his grasp. Though on a normal day Sam might protest that he was too old to be held, he pulled the boy onto his lap. He was trembling. “I’ve never known anyone to have a better knack for staying alive than your pa. I’ve seen him come out of a fight with seven armed men without a scratch on him.”

“He could get sick. It’d be just me an’ Ella if he got sick and died.” Sam buried his face in Artie’s arm as if he could hide away from that dark thought.

“I don’t think even the influenza would dare to take on your pa.” On the list of things Artie had worried about, Jim getting sick hadn’t been one. Until now. “And you forgot one thing, my boy.”

“What?”

“You don’t just have your pa, you have me too.” Jim had only brought it up to him once, during the first Christmas visit when Sam had only been months old. He’d made Artie promise to take care of his son if anything were to happen to him. Artie had easily agreed, thinking that it was an easy promise to keep, even after Ella had come along. After all Jim was a sheriff of a sleepy little town on the coast, not a government agent chasing megalomaniacs anymore. Jim would raise his own kids, and Artie would swoop in to play the doting uncle. Sam’s concerns and Teresa’s death made the possibility a little too real. “Nothing is going to happen to your pa, but if it did you and Ella would still have your uncle Artie.”


	3. Pirates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It hadn’t been hard to guess where to look first; horses had always had a calming influence on Jim.

There wasn’t much waiting for him in his office. There were a few new wanted posters to look over; Leroy had already hung them up. The town gazette was published once a week; there were two issues on his desk. The first would contain the news of Teresa’s passing; he wasn’t ready to see that in print. He looked over the more recent issue. It was supposed to be a hot summer, and a new family had moved to town. Other than that little had changed. Only his whole world.

“I had to put old man Thompson in the cell Monday night to sleep off a drunk. And I fined Hank for broken bottles at the saloon; he was using them for target practice. Good thing he didn’t shoot the mirror, that would have been real ‘spensive.” His deputy had ridden out to his home twice, so there wasn’t much to tell. Jim suspected he’d used a lot more of his time hanging out near the schoolhouse than patrolling the town; he’d talked as much about Miss Mary Anne the schoolteacher as he did about any other happening in town.

“You’re doing well, Leroy,” he assured the eager young man. It was a bit of a stretch to have a deputy in a town so small, but he’d never gotten out of the habit of liking to work with a partner. Not that Leroy was anything compared to working with Artie.

He spent a few hours in town, checking on a few people, introducing himself to the Simmons family, newly arrived from Pennsylvania. He stopped at the stage depot to enquire after any visitors in town; he liked knowing who was around. The only person who had gotten off the stage in the last week was a man whose description matched that of Artie. For the first time it occurred to him just how far his friend had traveled. He’d been in the Yukon, and had made it to Southern California in just shy of two weeks. He must have barely stopped for fresh horses and food; no wonder he’d looked so tired when he’d arrived. But Artie probably hadn’t hesitated for a moment before starting the trip, knowing him. Sometimes he wondered how he could possibly deserve such a friend. Too often he wondered what he would do without Artie; even though he didn’t see him enough, he knew without question his friend was always there.

“I’ll take four of the peppermint sticks.” His last stop before heading back home was the mercantile. They were going to run low on coffee, with two of them drinking it. He knew, too, how Artie liked to cook; he’d need things that weren’t stocked in the pantry. 

“Anything else, Sheriff?” Rebecca Stein asked as she added the candy to the pile of goods he’d already selected. He didn’t fail to notice she’d doubled the amount of candy. “Are Sam and Ella waiting outside?”

“They’re at home.” He shook his head and pulled out his billfold to pay for his purchases.

“Did you hire someone, then? We didn’t hear anything about any relatives coming to visit. Teresa has a sister, doesn’t she?” Rebecca Stein was almost as big of a busybody as her husband Paul. Jim made it a habit of telling her as little as possible.

“I believe you’ve met my friend Artemus Gordon before. He’s staying with us for a while.” He’d never realized, until Sam had been born, how good Artie as with kids. They’d seldom interacted with them in their work. It hadn’t surprised him, though; he was far more patient than Jim, and a great storyteller.

“Well I suppose that will do for the time being, sheriff, but they’ll need a woman around. I might know of one or two that could be interested in a job as housekeeper. Also might know a widow or two that are interested in…”

“Thank you, Mrs. Stein, but I’d better be getting back to my children.” He didn’t want to know what Rebecca Stein’s widows were interested in.

As he rode up to his house he noticed it was quiet. For a moment he worried it was too quiet, but then he noticed a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. A very familiar red, looking like one of his better vests. It almost went down to Ella’s ankles.

“Surrender.” From behind a tree Sam came at him, a wood sword in one hand. He had a scrap of black leather tied around his head, covering one eye. “Cap’n, we’ve caught a spy.”

“Aye, that we have, matey. And he looks to be a rich one. We shall steal his treasure, shall we?” Artie, who could make himself over completely with only minutes to prepare, had transformed himself completely into a pirate, complete with a hooked hand. “But what should we do with him when we’re done?”

“Walk the plank, walk the plank,” Sam chanted. After the second time Ella joined in. It was the first time in two weeks he’d seen a genuine smile on his son’s face. If he loved Artie for no other reason he’d love him for that.

“Not without a fight, you won’t!” He slid off his horse, dropping down to the ground and grabbing the first piece of of wood he found that would made an acceptable sword. Putting into play the moves that had once saved the country, he swooped up his daughter and put her on his shoulders. “I’m not a spy, I’m a pirate with my own ship and I’m kidnapping your pirate princess.”

“It’s still two against one, me lad. Swords at the ready.” Artie had a sword of his own, though his was metal. One of the old epees they’d used in their training sessions from the look of it. Jim had forgotten that he still had them stashed in the barn. Maybe when Sam was a bit taller he would pull them out and give the boy some lessons. Now, though, he had a swordfight to lose. After all it wouldn’t do to let Sam lose, not when he was enjoying himself too much. And the princess, pirate or not, had to be rescued.

II

He found Jim in the barn after dinner. Ella had fallen asleep at the table, and Sam hadn’t lasted for more than a short story once he was in bed. By the time Artie had washed the dishes the house was empty. It hadn’t been hard to guess where to look first; horses had always had a calming influence on Jim. The second car of the train had been pretty well divided; his laboratory was his own refuge, and the stable was Jim’s.

“Some things never change.” The horse was different, but he found Jim with a curry comb in one hand. “I figured you’d be out here.”

“I haven’t been giving them enough attention lately.” There were seven horses in the barn. Artie knew that besides Jim’s own steed one horse was Sam’s, and there was a team for the carriage. Jim always had a few extra, sometimes taking in a new one, sometimes selling. He had an eye for horseflesh and a talent for taming them. “That’s Plato in the last stall, by the way. He’s the best one here for you, if you find yourself needing to take a ride. I think you’ll like him.”

“Interesting choice of names.” It was like old times; Jim always picked out his horses, ever since taking one look at the horse he’d been using when they met and shaking his head.

“He came with the name when I picked him up a few months ago. Can’t imagine why the man that owned him chose the name; he was a bastard. Drank too much, and was cruel to old Plato. Fortunately he had a weakness for gambling and some pretty obvious tells. Man walked out of town when he left.” There was a gleam in Jim’s eye that told Artie he’d probably stretched out the game, enjoying beating such a man. “He reminded me of you. Plato, not the man.”

“Old and plodding?” Artie reached for the horse, noting that his coloring wasn’t that different from the old leather coat he’d favored when they were together. Plato stuck his nose over the stall’s closed gate, allowing Artie to stroke him.

“Smart, and a good judge of character. He doesn’t trust many people, he’d be a terrible city horse, but he’s got a good heart.

“I didn’t do too badly in the city.” He’d acted for a time after leaving the service, but it had felt hollow. While he enjoyed the time on stage he found himself less enamoured with the parties and the directors, the crowds and the lack of open space. While he didn’t avoid cities he didn’t tend to spend more than a few weeks, or sometimes only days in them. He’d spent far more time the last few years in the less populated corners of the country. He wrote reposts on places he hoped would join Yellowstone as National Parks. He spent time with Chief Ho-Tami’s tribe, learning about their medicines and their struggles. Most recently he’d been amusing himself panning for gold.

“Better than I would do,” Jim said with a shrug. “And you’re not old or plodding. I saw your pirate act earlier, remember? Sam’s going to want you to teach him the thing with the rope and Ella will ask you to go ‘flying’ again tomorrow.”

“I managed to pass the half a century mark a few years ago, James my boy. I think I can comfortably call that old. If I’d lived a different sort of life I’d be a grandfather by now.” His bones and joints liked to remind of him his age upon occasion, especially when facing Canadian winters. This coming year he certainly wouldn’t be wintering so close to a polar cap. “I’m comfortable enough in my own skin to be able to know who I am. Not Methuselah by any account, but no spring chicken either.”

“Did you ever think about it, Artie? Kids, I mean. I’ve never heard you mention it before.” Jim looked at him curiously, pausing for a moment before moving on to one of the carriage horses.

“I have a regret or two in my life, but that’s not one of them.” Artie shook his head. Even when he’d briefly entertained the idea of a life with Lily it had never occurred to him that she might want children. She was an actress, and backstage was no way to raise a child. Then again fondness and nostalgia were no way to start a marriage either; he didn’t regret saying farewell to her. Last he’d heard she’d married a businessman and was on stage in New York. “I’m far better suited to the role of godfather.”

“I think you’re selling yourself short. I wouldn’t have pictured it for myself either, before.” Jim looked at the pile in the corner of the barn, where an epee, cloth, and a few feathers were discarded from earlier. “You’ve done more for Sam than I’ve been able to do since…”

“You’ve been here for him every day, Jim, and that’s everything he needs and wants. All I did was remind him that he could never lose you, and then take his mind off things for a while.” Sam had fallen asleep in the hot summer sun not long after expressing his fears. When he’d awoken Artie had already started gathering their costumes; he was a master of distraction, after all. 

“He was afraid I’d leave?” He looked as shocked as he would if someone told him he was suspected of treason. Jim would never betray his family or his country. Artie shook his head, doubting the truth was any easier.

“He’s afraid you could die. I assured him that you were too damn stubborn, and I should know.” Artie crouched down; Jim had been working on the horse’s legs, though his hand was frozen now. “He’ll be okay, Jim. He just needs some time.”

“I don’t know how to do this, Artie. If someone had attacked my family I’d have something to fight, some way to try and fix things. But a disease…” When Jim’s eyes met his they were filled with anguish. He closed them briefly, giving Artie a moment to catch his breath. 

“If you need something to fight I’m glad to offer my services. Queensberry rules, or something a bit dodgier? I learned a move or two from a miner protecting his claim that might interest you.” Perhaps a fight, even if it wasn’t against an enemy, would help a little. “Just avoid the nose, if you don’t mind. I’ll never fit on a fake nose if it’s swollen.”

“I think if I started hitting things I might never stop.” Jim pulled away, standing up and returning the curry comb to the hook on the wall. “I’m going to go cut some wood.”

“The offer stands, if you change your mind.” Artie didn’t figure there was any point in reminding his friend that there was enough wood already to last them through the rest of the year, or that the summer had barely begun, or that it was dark outside. “Anything I can do to help.”

“You’re here.” Jim looked at him for a moment before vanishing into the dark. Artie sighed, and stood up more slowly. Just being around didn’t seem like enough, not when Jim was hurting. For now, though, there didn’t seem to be anything else. 

“I’ll bring you an apple tomorrow,” he promised Plato as he stopped at the horse’s stall on his way out of the barn. As he walked towards the house he could hear the sound of metal meeting wood. It was almost an hour before the sound stopped.


	4. Out of Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artie cursed bar fights. He cursed saloons. He cursed punches and drunken cowboys and irresponsible currs who started trouble when it wasn’t necessary. Artie could speak in a great many languages, and curse in more, and he silently employed them all.

The universe could be an obliging place upon occasion. Not when it was important, though, not when life and death hung in the balance. The fight he was spoiling for, however, found him just two days after he’d talked to Artie. Hank was causing trouble at the saloon again, though this time when he drew his gun it was against a couple of strangers who were making themselves too familiar with Rosie as she served their drinks. 

He’d brought Sam into town to spend the morning with his friend Juan for the first time in almost three weeks. They hadn’t seen each other since the funeral; Jim was hoping to build on what Artie had given the boy, and allow him to play and enjoy himself. Ella had been more interested in digging around the attic with Artie as they forged for costumes and props for their next game. Jim spent an hour with his deputy, avoided the mercantile, and spent most of his time just watching the town. It had been home for more than nine years, almost the same amount of time he’d lived on the Wanderer.

A crash from inside the o drew his attention away from his idle thoughts. By the time he reached the swinging doors guns were already drawn. A fight was one thing, but guns brought with them a greater risk of death and he’d seen too much of that to want more. He hit the first gun out of a stranger’s hand and used his own gun to encourage Hank, the second stranger, and the bartender Joshua to lower their guns.

Fists were another matter entirely. His own were bloody and raw by the time the fight ended. His lip was cut and he was pretty sure his left eye was starting to swell shut.

“Sorry about the mess, Joshua.” He left a few bills on the bar to pay for the chair he’d smashed over one man’s head, and the work that would have to be done to repair one of the tables before helping Leroy to carry the strangers across the street to the sheriff’s office and the jail cell. He left Hank to Rosie’s not to tender ministrations as she both scolded him and thanked him.

Sam’s eyes widened when he picked him up. “Pa?”

“Just a lesson I had to teach someone about respecting the rules. I’m alright.” He smiled. Despite the aches and the eye he could only half see out of he did feel a little better. He’d said no to Artie’s offer because he hadn’t trusted himself to pull his punches and not hurt anyone. He hadn’t had to pull back in the bar. He lifted his son up onto the horse, climbing up behind him. “Ready to go home?”

“Yeah. Uncle Artie’s going to tell me an’ Ella about the Knights of the Round Table. We’re going to go on a quest.” Sam relaxed against him. They wouldn’t be able to ride double for much longer, not even for short trips. Jim would miss it; his son was growing too fast. Teresa would never see the man he would become in a handful of years, and that hurt.

“We might need to see about getting you a better sword and some instruction in fencing.” Perhaps one of the epees could be cut down to size. Artie would probably have an idea.

“Just me, right? Ella’s too little.” 

Jim laughed. “Just you, for now. Ella can have a turn in a few years.” After all any child of his was going to know how to defend themselves; girl or boy didn’t matter. In fact knowing what he knew of the rogues and villains of the world it was even more important that he daughter had lessons.

He let Sam off in front of the house before riding back to the barn. He took care of his horse and headed for the back door, hoping to at least wash up and change his shirt before he saw Artie and Ella. He half succeeded.

“If you’re trying to make me feel at home, Jim, I’m grateful but I can live without the deja vu.” Artie was at the kitchen table, reading over a book that Jim recognized as being the one where Teresa had written down her family’s recipes. Artie pushed the bowl aside and got up, going through the familiar motions of gathering supplies to tend to a wounded partner. “Have a seat.”

“It’s not that bad.” He didn’t bother fighting the suggestion, though, sitting at the table and watching as his friend warmed water and found a couple of old rags. He was sure it was only a matter of time before Artie found the liniment and insisted on searching him for bruises. He figured he’d save them both some time and took off his shirt. There was a tear at the shoulder and blood on the collar, probably from his lip. For a just a moment when he turned around with a bowl of water Artie seemed frozen in surprise. He recovered quickly enough that Jim almost doubted what he’d seen, but he knew Artie too well. 

“James my boy, what am I going to do with you?” Ten years of time seemed to vanish as Artie sat on a chair pulled up close, dabbing at the dried blood on his hands with the wet cloth. Under the blood were scrapes that would need a few days to heal, but nothing bad enough to need bandaging. His lip hurt worse, when Artie started cleaning it. When he drew in a sharp breath Artie paused. “Not that bad?”

“I’m out of practice.” Despite how easily he’d jumped into the fray it wasn’t something he normally did, not any more. His town was a quiet one, most of the time. With two small children and a wife at home it wasn’t like he’d spent much time at the saloon, and it was rare that his job had called for much fighting. 

“Did it help?” Artie asked softly, avoiding his mouth and instead focusing on the cut on his shoulder that seemed to match up with the tear on his shirt.

“Not as much as it might have, once. But yeah, a little,” he admitted. Not that he had anything to hide from Artie; the man had seen him at his worse and hadn’t run. “I understand what you said about feeling old, though.”

“I’m afraid tomorrow’s going to be worse.” Artie had found the liniment, and opened the jar. He slid it across the table after scooping up a handful. “I’ll get the bruises on your back. Why don’t you take care of the rest?”

“At least there were no candelabras to avoid. I don’t miss narrow misses like that.” Artie was behind him, his hands warm as he worked the oil into his skin. The heat and touch negated any pain. No one had touched him, skin to skin, since Teresa had died. He wanted to lean into the touch, but that was a ridiculous notion. It was just Artie taking care of him. “I miss my shoes, though, the ones with the knife in them. And the exploding buttons.”

“Not exactly standard issue for a small town sheriff, but they wouldn’t be that out of place if you’re serious.” Artie’s practiced fingers found the bruise just above his kidney. For a moment Jim tensed, then released a low moan as the pain built up and ebbed. He was going to be stiff in the morning, even with the first aid. 

“I can’t imagine they’d have what you need at the mercantile.” He’d forgotten that he was supposed to be taking care of some of his bruises on his own, and halfheartedly rubbed the liniment into his chest.

“I’m sure they wouldn’t mind doing some ordering for me. It would only take a couple of weeks to get what I need.” Artie seemed to be finished, from the way he was wiping his hands on the towel. Jim immediately missed the touch. He was delighted enough by Artie’s comment, though, to be distracted. If Artie was talking about ordering things that wouldn’t arrive for weeks that meant he planned to stay at least that long. It was far longer than he usually stayed.

“Well if it wouldn’t be too much of a bother…” He looked over his shoulder at his friend, and smiled. He’d been half joking about the gadgets, but glad to press his advantage.

Artie’s own smile was a little slower in coming. “It would be my pleasure, Jim.”

II

Artie cursed bar fights. He cursed saloons. He cursed punches and drunken cowboys and irresponsible currs who started trouble when it wasn’t necessary. Artie could speak in a great many languages, and curse in more, and he silently employed them all.

When Jim had first turned up in the kitchen he’d fallen back on old habits, barely even thinking as he prepared what he needed. It had been easy enough to clean the same hands he’d tended to so often before. For just a moment he’d forgotten that they weren’t on the parlor car on the Wanderer, where such a scene had played out hundreds of times. While quickly triaging Jim’s other injuries, he’d decided that the lip wound was the next thing he needed to take care of. It was then that he’d started his silent cursing. He was careful not the touch Jim’s lips, keeping his hand wrapped in the piece of flannel, but he didn’t need much imagination to see how soft they were. Certainly from years of observation he knew how skilled they were. It was the gasp, though, that had almost sent him running from the room. A gasp that might have, in other circumstances, meant something else entirely.

“Did it help?” He needed to distract himself. He needed to remind himself that in addition to being his best friend James was a grieving widower, and the last thing he needed was to discover the awkward and painful fact of Artie’s feelings. He’d spent well over a decade hiding the secret; he should be better about it by now.

He was relieved when he’d seen to Jim’s shoulder and was able to make an excuse to move away from his position. Not that standing behind Jim was much better, but at least there was no way for his friend to see that he was half aroused just from a few simple touches and a single moan. He prayed to any god he’d ever read about that he could get himself under control before he lost the excuse of hiding behind the chair. It was rather pathetic how easily affected he was. The fact that it had been some months since he’d last made time with anyone might be a contributing factor, or at least he hoped it could be that simple. 

“As long as there’s still light I might as well place that order today. No time like the present.” He’d spent time in a Buddhist temple once, and not even the meditations taught to him by the monks were enough to stop him thinking about Jim as he rubbed the liniment into his back. He couldn’t ignore a single bruise, though, not when Jim was already hurting. He had to do what he could to help. Finally, though, it was done and he was able to escape. “I’ll let you know how Plato and I get on.”

“We’ll see you for dinner.” Jim said with a nod.

“If I’m late don’t hold anything for me. And get some ice on that eye.” Artie spent a good ten minutes in the barn talking to his temporary horse as he put on the saddle and bridle. By the time he’d explained a little to Plato about his Greek namesake Artie was calm enough to mount; riding while aroused was not comfortable.

Mrs. Stein asked far more questions than he would have liked, and seemed more interested in what was happening in the West household than the chemicals and tools he’d ordered. Artie used his well practiced skills to redirect her until they were talking about the mundane affairs of the town instead. Jim’s deputy, it seemed, was sparking the schoolteacher. Artie tucked away the information to share later, in case Jim wasn’t aware.

He left with a few pieces of licorice in his pocket, wrapped in waxed paper, and walked down the wood sidewalk to the next corner. No one was in the feed and grain store when he walked in. Artie passed on through to the back room, where bags of feed were stacked up on one side, and tack hung on the opposite wall. At the far end of the room a man bent over a desk; he might seem like he was working except that the book before him was bound in leather, and Artie could spot a play from a dozen yards. He could practically smell it. 

“The play’s the thing. Wherein I’ll catch the conscious of a king.” Artie stopped in the middle of the room, taking in a deep breath of the familiar smells. 

“Artemus Gordon! I heard you were in town.” Nathaniel was out of his chair in a moment, striding with purpose to meet Artie. He clamped one hand on Artie’s shoulder. “I was sorry to hear about Teresa West. I know how much Jim means to you, this can’t be an easy trip.”

“I only wish I could have been here sooner.” Nathaniel didn’t know just what Jim meant to him; Artie was fairly certain that he didn’t even suspect. He knew about decades of friendship and the fact that the Wests were as close as he had to family. There was no reason for him to suspect that Artie was in love with his best friend. “It’s good to see you, Nathan.”

“How much would you like to see, Artie?” The other man cocked his head to the side just a little, but the invitation was clear. Artie leaned in, joining their lips in a familiar kiss. He’d met Nathan a few years ago, and counted him as a friend. A certain kind of friend, who just so happened to be similarly inclined when it came to spending time in bed. They had an understanding, neither one making any promises or commitments, just enjoying each other when Artie came for a visit.

“Would anyone notice if you closed for an hour or two?” He slid one hand between them, and found that he wasn’t the only one easily aroused today. It did his ego some good to know that someone was interested.

“I think I’ll just go ahead and close up for the day. Meet you upstairs?” Nathan stepped back, trying to steady his breathing.

“Don’t take too long,” Artie said with a grin. As he started up the steps to the apartment above the shop Artie resolved to put everything out of his mind of a few hours. This wasn’t about Jim or anyone else, and he wouldn’t dishonor Nathaniel by thinking of someone else when they were together. It was simply a pleasant diversion and some time spent with a friend.

He did feel a little better when he returned to the homestead after dark, having long since missed dinner. At least he was a little more relaxed, and in a better place to be the friend that Jim needed him to be.


	5. Living Arrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She wants my kids, Artie.” When Jim raised his gaze to look at him it was almost enough to make him take a step backwards. The force of his grief was almost physical.

Ella was taking too long to get dressed. She’d run up the stairs after breakfast, a good half hour ago, to change out of her nightgown. A few months ago she’d been too quiet and he’d found her painting rainbows on the wall of her bedroom. Teresa had scolded while he’d tried not to laugh at her innocent explanation that she was making rainbows because God liked them. Apparently they’d read the story of Noah’s ark in Sunday School that week. It had taught him an important lesson about not leaving his daughter alone too long, especially when she was being too quiet.

Once he reached to top of the stairs he found a trail of dresses, dolls, and storybooks. Ella had her arms full of things she was carrying into Sam’s room, and apparently more than a few had fallen along the way. 

“I don’t think you need that many things in your brother’s room. Isn’t one doll enough?” He looked into the room, curious, and found that she’d made at least a few trips already. Her rocking chair was at the end of the bed and a few dresses were covering her trundle bed.

“Me and Sammy decided we’re sharing his room. I’m moving all my dollies an’ everything.” Ella hadn’t apparently gotten around to putting on a dress yet, despite the fact that she carried a couple. Jim took them out of her arms and started on the buttons at the front of her nightgown. He knew that she felt better sleeping with Sam right now, but that wasn’t a permanent answer. He was already worried about how easily he could get Ella to sleep on her own after Artie left.

He didn’t like thinking about Artie leaving.

“I know you miss your ma, bug, but you and your brother are both going to need your own rooms.” He picked up one of the dresses she’d been carrying and slipped it over her head.

“But we decided, papa. Me an’ Sammy can share and then unka Artie can stay forever and ever ‘cause he’ll have his own room. Sammy said so.” She was still young enough that she believed her brother about everything. Sometimes Jim wondered if they’d remain so close or if they’d have to grow in their own ways. He’d never been particularly close to his sister, but that might have had something to do with the eight years between them and the fact that she’d married at seventeen. Teresa was close with her sister, despite living in different countries. They passed long letters through the mail service. They had been close, Jim reminded himself. It was a bond that had been severed just as his marriage had been.

“Your uncle Artie is visiting, just like he’s visited before. And he’ll visit again, whenever he wants. I know you like him being here.” The kids were always sad when Artie left, and wanted to know when he’d be back again. They’d never tried to get him to stay before, though. Jim had to admit he’d had the same urge as well, wondering if there wasn’t some way to convince Artie to settle down, if not with them at least nearby. He wondered if he dared ask. He didn’t have to wonder how he would feel if Artie said no.

“No, he has to stay, papa. He makes the sad go away.” For a moment Jim wasn’t capable of doing anything other than staring at his daughter, the enormity of what she’d said with so few words hitting him. It was instinct more than anything that had him picking her up and carrying her over to the bed to rest on his knee.

“Losing your ma made us all sad, sweetheart, but she wouldn’t want us to stay sad. It’s going to get better.” He hoped so, at least. It was hard to remember what it had been like, losing his parents. He remembered all too well what it had been to lose friends in the war, and after. Some of the wounds were still raw when he thought too hard about them.

“I know, papa. That’s why she sent unka Artie. He makes you smile. You didn’t smile after mama went away, not until unka Artie camed.” Ella was looking up at him earnestly, both of her small hands holding onto one of his hands. She was far more observant than he would have expected. “He can stay, can’t he papa?”

“He’s always welcome here, bug, but sometimes Artie likes to go other places and we can’t keep him like we did Patches.” Sam had been the one to bring home the cat three years ago, and had begged to keep it. If only things were that simple with people, but Artie had never been one for staying in one place, not in all the years Jim had known him. The last few years he’d seemed even more restless, his letters almost always coming from a different place. “But I have you, and Sam, and you both make me happy too.”

He escaped to the corral after Ella was distracted with a tea party she’d decided to throw for her dolls. He’d picked up a new horse not long before Teresa had gotten sick, and hadn’t been able to spend any time breaking him in. It would give him something to focus on that wasn’t worrying about his kids or wondering about Artie and how long he was staying, or why the idea of him leaving again was a stone in his stomach, or where he’d vanished to two nights ago.

By lunchtime he’d been thrown three times and had newly forming bruises on top of his older bruises, but the horse had accepted both bit and saddle and he was feeling more relaxed. He was even smiling when he entered the house, heading for the wash basin. He stopped when he saw the neat stack of papers on the corner of the table; the post had been delivered. On top was a letter for Juliette, Teresa’s sister. It was the first he’d received since he’d sent her the telegram about Teresa’s death. He hesitated a moment before opening it, knowing he’d find pain and regret inside. He expected it to hurt. He didn’t expect the anger.

II

The cup was made of tin, fortunately, and wasn’t the good china. It only clanged as it fell to the floor after bouncing off Artie’s shoulder, a little dented, rather than shattered in pieces. It might have been enough to cause a bruise, but mostly it startled and worried him.

“Jim?” He kept his eye on his friend as he walked into the room, glad that the kids were still playing outside. When Jim didn’t respond he touched his arm gently. “James?”

“She wants my kids, Artie.” When Jim raised his gaze to look at him it was almost enough to make him take a step backwards. The force of his grief was almost physical.

“Who?” It was the first question, if not the most important. Know thy enemy; he needed to understand who he had to fight. He would fight anyone who tried to take the children away from Jim. He’d give anything, up to and including his life, to keep the family together, safe and healthy.

“Juliette. She wants to come pick them up. They’d have family down there. Grandparents and cousins and an aunt to mother them. She thinks it would be better for them, now that they don’t have…”

“They have a family.” He’d only met Juliette once, their visits never quite lining up except for right after Ella was born. She seemed a friendly enough women, if a little bossy, but Artie quickly changed his opinion. Not even grief excused the kind of cruelty she was inflicting. He reached for the letter, finding that it all but fell from Jim’s grasp when he pulled at at the papers.

“They don’t have a mother, she’s right about that. I don’t have any family in California, and my sister hasn’t even met Ella.” Artie scanned the letter, finding no reason to look upon the writer with any more sympathy. She lobbied hard for her case, using promises and guilt to try and get her way. The children needed family and a woman’s touch. Perhaps in a year or two when Jim was ready for a new wife… Artie winced.

“They need their father. They need their home and their friends.” Artie tossed the letter down on the table, narrowly resisting the urge to wad it up into a ball and aim for the stove. “They have you, and that’s what matters.”

“What if it’s not enough? It’s hard enough to figure out how to get everything done and I’m not even working a few hours a day. And as Ella gets older she’s going to need a woman to talk to.”

“There’s no reason to borrow trouble from the future. She’d hardly be the first daughter raised by a father alone, if that’s what happens. Look at our President.” He’d only met Arthur twice, but the man was clearly devoted to his daughter. “The rest can be figured out. You can hire someone if you need to, but for now you have me. I’ll help you out as much as you need, for as long as you need me.”

“You’ve already helped.” Jim slumped down, sitting on the edge of the table. The worst of the anger was gone. Artie hoped that the fear was gone too, but all he could see was Jim, deflated after a battle he wasn’t certain he’d won. “Even if it’s selfish I can’t let them go.”

“You’re the most unselfish person I know, Jim.” In a move that was rare between them he wrapped his arms around his friend, holding him close. Words came easy to him, but there were things even his words couldn’t express. All he wanted was to let Jim know he wasn’t as alone as Juliette had made him feel. And while Jim protected everyone around him there was someone who just wanted to protect him. When the hug ended Artie’s lips brushed lightly against Jim’s forehead. The kiss held no more passion than a mother’s kiss, and just as much love.

“The kids have decided that they want to play trains. I figure if they want a train there’s only one acceptable solution; we’re going to have to build a scaled down model of the Wanderer. You have any plans for the next couple of weeks?” There was no reason to dwell on the letter for the moment. Jim would need to send a reply, and would read it again, but for now a distraction was in order. “Although I suppose we should leave out the hidden weapons and the whiskey.”

“Well maybe not all the weapons. I’m sure we could do something with a slingshot.” Jim’s smile was a small one, barely turning up the corners of his mouth, but for the moment it was enough. He followed Artie out into the yard. Ella and Sam were busy painting wooden boards. An old wagon bed that had been leaning against the outside of the barn was now on the grass next to the garden, awaiting an transformation. Artie’s sketchbook was on the ground near the children, a handful of sketches already drawn working on transforming his memories of an old home into a playhouse.

“You weren’t joking.” Jim looked at him, vaguely surprised.

“James my boy, I never joke about building my godchildren a playhouse.” Ella had been, in her own way, just as upset as Jim after breakfast. What had started as a story to distract her had somehow become a grand plan. Artie loved grand plans, and even more he loved seeing Jim’s children happy.

“How long are you staying, Artie?” When the children called Jim over to see what they were doing Artie was mercifully spared from answering. He had no idea.


	6. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She would have liked the flowers, Artie. Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience and encouragement, dear readers. I found myself unexpectedly moving last month, with little time for writing. Unfortunately things might be slow going for a bit; I work retail and the next six weeks are very hectic. It's such a delight, though, to know that there are still people interested in these delightful boys.

“You’ll be coming to the picnic next week, won’t you Mr. Gordon?” After church more than a few townspeople made their continued curiosity about Artie known. It was Artie’s third time accompanying him and the children to church; Jim didn’t have any particular interest in Sunday morning services but it had been important to Teresa, and for that reason he would continue to take Sam and Ella.

“I would be honored, my dear.” He was his usual charming self no matter how many questions he was asked, but Jim knew him well. He rarely gave a meaningful answer when asked anything about himself; his smile and his habit of changing the conversation kept people from noticing. Artie could say a thousand words without revealing a thing.

“There’s gonna be fireworks, unka Artie, ‘cause it’s the fortieth of July.” Sam had run off to play with friends the moment service had ended, but Ella had stayed close. She didn’t mind playing alone at home but when they were in town she became rather clingy, preferring to be in almost touching distance from Artie or himself.

“It’s a very special day, isn’t it princess?” Artie scooped her up, speaking before anyone had a chance to correct her on the date. Jim watched his daughter and Artie for a moment before someone pulled his attention away. As sheriff he needed to pay attention to anyone who asked for him. Unfortunately all too often it wasn’t business but someone wishing to offer their condolences. He wondered when he’d be able to come into town again and not have someone anxious to remind him that his wife was dead.

After the third time he felt the need to get away from the well meaning but frustrating church members. Stepping away from the crowd pulled him in the direction of the cemetery, and after a glance reassured him that Ella was riding Artie’s shoulders he allowed himself to walk through the simple gate that separated meeting place from resting place. Teresa’s grave was on the edge of the cemetery, under a tree that gave shade during the afternoon heat. It had been five weeks since they’d buried her, and already spring had given way to summer. The creek that he could hear just beyond the trees widened into a swimming hole just outside of town; usually by now they would have had a picnic there. Teresa had loved picnics; it had been on a picnic blanket not long after he’d met her that they’d first made love. It had been on another picnic blanket less than a year later that he’d felt Sam kick as he’d pressed his hand to his new wife’s stomach. He couldn’t have known that the late fall picnic they’d enjoyed months ago would be their last.

“It wasn’t supposed to end like this.” The grave was barely more than a mound of dirt, sparse bits of grass starting to grow. Near the headstone, though, poppies grew. Jim was confused for a moment until he remembered the shovel he’d almost tripped over in the garden a few days ago and the dirt on Artie’s hands. Teresa had loved all flowers. Artie had remembered, and given her one last bouquet. Artie had been the first to give her a bouquet as well, more than nine years ago. Teresa’s father had helped them to expose a posse of men intent on burning a border town, but in the fight he’d been fatally injured. When everything was over Artie had brought her flowers along with his condolences. It hadn’t occurred to Jim to bring anything; he’d been feeling guilty about not being able to protect the older man, and found it hard to even find the words to offer her comfort. They’d stayed in town longer than usual, to make sure the new widow and her daughters were coping. While Artie had made himself useful to the woman who would become Jim’s mother in law, Jim had finally found a way to comfort the daughter. He hadn’t expected to fall in love. Somehow that had surprised him more than learning, a few months later, that he was going to be a father. He’d only fallen in love once before.

“Jim?” He’d been distracted enough that Artie was only standing a few feet behind him by the time Jim realized that he wasn’t alone.

“She would have liked the flowers, Artie. Thank you.” The orange poppies grew a great many places in California. Teresa had delighted in their color and simplicity.

“The ancient royals of Egypt and Greece were sometimes buried with them, and sometimes used them to adorn tributes to their gods. They’re thought to have the power to grant peace, even in death.” Artie moved a step closer, pausing perhaps to see if he was welcome. When Jim nodded he squated down on the other side of the grave, his finger brushing against a golden bloom. “I thought she might like having a little piece of her garden here.”

“She was teaching Ella and Sam all their names, and how to care for them. I don’t know if I know how to keep them all alive.” He’d never had much luck growing things, or much interest. In his youth he’d worked a few harvests, but knowing how to pick food that was ripe wasn’t the same and tending to flowers.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve had more than a pot of herbs, but I have a bit of a green thumb. At least I haven’t lost any of them yet.” 

“I appreciate that.” It was on the tip of his tongue to ask again how long Artie was staying. He’d evaded the question a few days ago, and Jim had been too distracted by his children and still reeling from Juliette’s letter. It had been night before he’d realized that Artie had never responded. How long was Artie staying? Three weeks was already a longer than normal visit. He wanted an answer and yet he feared it as well. What if his answer could be counted in a matter of days? What if Artie was already itching to be somewhere else?

“Anything you need, James my boy, you know you only have to ask.” Artie was watching him carefully, is if hoping to deduce unspoken requests. Artie always was good at figuring out what he needed, with few exceptions. He just hadn’t figured out that Jim needed him to stay.

“Papa, Sammy says I’m too little to play with him and Juan.” Jim had been the one to do Ella’s hair, and the ribbons had gone missing sometime during the service. Her braid was half fallen out, and she was frowning as she walked towards them. “I’m not too little.”

“I think you’re just the right size. Any bigger and you wouldn’t fit in my pocket.” Artie was closer, and scooped her up to sit on his lap.

“I can’t fit in your pocket. It’s too little.” Ella settled down easily, assured of her place with her ‘uncle.’ She didn’t seem to pay any attention to the gravestone; Jim wasn’t certain she understood the significance.

“Maybe I just need a bigger pocket.” Artie tugged on a stray strand of her hair, looking down at the girl with affection. Jim smiled for the first time since he’d entered the cemetery. Both of his children were faring so much better since Artie had arrived. Hell, he was faring better too. “Why don’t we come up with our own game after lunch, princess? And maybe if Sam asks nicey we’ll let him play too.”

“I want to be a real princess with a crown an’ everything.” 

“Your wish, Highness, is my command.” Artie winked at Jim as he stood, still holding onto Ella. “We’ll get the wagon, Jim. You take as much time as you need.”

“Thank you Artie.” The cemetery was too quiet after they left. He lingered only long enough to say a silent good-bye, touching his hand to the sun warmed stone.

II

“Artie?” It was late when the tapping came at his bedroom door. He pushed back from the small table he’d co-opted from the sitting room and turned into a temporary workbench and opened the door.

“You’re dressed.” They’d played checkers after dinner. Though Jim had fortunately (and also unfortunately) given up the old habit of wandering without his shirt on he had been casually dressed in pants and an old cotton shirt rolled up. Now he was fully dressed, including his holster.

“There’s a little girl missing. Leroy just rode up to get me.”

“My jacket’s warmer than yours.” It might be summer but the nights were cold. He worried about his friend. He worried about the little girl, and things more dangerous than the cold. The least he could do was offer the jacket that he’d chosen for a more frigid northern climate. “You should take it. If there’s anything else I can do…”

“I just need to know Sam and Ella are safe.” Artie knew he could be invaluable as part of a search party, but neither of them would rest well if the children were alone and there wasn’t anyone else to stay.

“Let me make some coffee at least. It’ll be ready by the time you have Blue saddled.” Artie didn’t wait for an answer before heading for the stairs and the kitchen below. He was glad to find the stove still retained some heat and the water in the kettle was barely warm. It didn’t take much to heat the water up the rest of the way and make a pot of espresso. He took out a cup to the front yard; Jim was already mounted on his house.

“Jim.” He held up the cup, but his words failed him. It wasn’t their habit to make suggestions of safety; danger had been an implied and expected part of their lives for too many years together. Nor did he need to mention the little girl; he knew Jim would do everything necessary to bring her home. “I’ll see you for breakfast.”

“Thank you.” When Jim handed him back the empty cup Artie knew the thanks wasn’t for a warm drink. He only nodded and stepped back, watching silently as Jim rode away, picking up speed once he hit the road towards town. He stayed there long after Jim had vanished, staring at the darkness. Finally he returned to the kitchen and the coffee pot; he wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon so he might as well finish off what was left. He didn’t bother with a new cup, but refilled the same one Jim had used. He didn’t let himself think about the fact that his lips touched the same place Jim’s had only minutes ago.

He needed to do something, and washing the coffee pot only kept him occupied for a moment. When he retreated into his bedroom he left the door open, to listen for sounds from either of the sleeping children down the hall. Over the past month the bedroom that was Ellas had been transformed into something that looked more and more like his old lab on the Wanderer. Above his makeshift desk were sketches, many of the mini train he was building with Sam and Ella, some of the shoes he’d redesigned for Jim, and a few other gadgets he’d been working on. It was the first time in a while he’d had the space and resources to tinker on more than basic repairs. The bookcase that had held toys and brightly illustrated books was mostly filled with tools, sketchbooks, bits of leather and metal and wood. 

The basic structure of the play train was constructed. He’d designed it to be half the size of the original, and had turned his attention to the furniture that also needed to be half the size of normal. Picking up a drawing pad he drew a few lines to roughly show the size of the room, and began to sketch out the couch, allowing memory to guide his pencil. The gold fabric had been soft to the touch, important considering how often they had napped on it, leaned back on it while their injuries were examined, or wooed their respective company on it. 

“Damn it.” When he focused on what he was doing he realized that he hadn’t drawn the couch as he’d intended, but had pulled from a memory of Jim stretched out on the couch, one knee bent, his hand folded across his bare chest. Artie could almost smell the wheat fields on a warm summer day as the train passed through middle America. He could feel the echo of guilt twined with pleasure as he watched his partner’s chest rise and fall, knowing that Jim was oblivious to his observation. He could remember the wanting but at the same time the contentment of knowing what he had.

Artie wadded up the piece of paper, throwing it in the basket that served as his trash bin, and started again. The second time he paid careful attention to each fabric covered button and the exact arch of the sofa’s arm. He sketched chairs and a table, the desk and a fireplace complete with a hiding place. There wouldn’t be a billiard table in this Wanderer, but he planned to take the space up with a bunk bed instead. It was almost four before he gave into his heavy eyelids; falling asleep at the desk wouldn’t do his neck any good, nor would it help anyone else. Before falling into bed he took the crumpled drawing out of the basket and shoved it under his pillow; it was a decent rendering and there wasn’t anything wrong with drawing from memory, he told himself. There was nothing incriminating about drawing a friend..

Jim’s room was still empty the next morning. Artie made breakfast, though he didn’t eat himself. Instead he headed for the barn to saddle two horses. He was certain Juan’s mother wouldn’t mind watching the children for a few hours, and someone in town would know what direction the search party had headed. He could lend a hand. He could bring some food with him and make sure Jim ate.

“Going somewhere?” Artie only had one saddle down when Jim led his horse into the barn, both man and beast looking exhausted but unharmed. At first glance Jim’s expression was hard to read.

“Are you home for a change or...”

“We found her. She followed a rabbit yesterday and got lost, but somehow found an old abandoned cabin. Your friend Nathan’s the one that remembered the place; no one else knew it was there.” Jim’s fingers fumbled with the fastenings on his saddle. Artie gently pushed him out of the way and removed it himself. “She’s a year younger than Sam.”

“Her parents must be so relieved.” They hadn’t had many cases involving children, thankfully, when they’d worked for the service. Had never told a parent their child was never coming home. He was grateful that Jim didn’t have that duty today either. “Why don’t you go in and have breakfast with your children; they’ll feel better knowing you’re home. I’ll take care of your horse.”

“I appreciate that, Artie.” Artie’s name turned into a yawn, the drive to find the child no longer sustaining Jim and the kick from the coffee long gone.

“You might consider a post breakfast nap. There’s plenty for Sam and Ella and me to do outside. Ella’s excited about painting and Sam wants to pound more nails.” Twenty-four hours awake wasn’t as easy as it once was.

“What would I do without you, Artie?” Jim offered him a sleepy smile, patted his horse on the flank a few times, and headed for the house. 

“You’ll be fine by the time I leave.” Artie waited until he was sure Jim was out of earshot before answering. He wouldn’t leave while he was needed, but things were already getting better in the West household. He figured on another month or so; by that time school would be close to starting and the children would have more to occupy their time. Jim would have hours each day without worrying about how to watch the children and do his work. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” Blue turned his head to look at Artie when he started using the curry comb. It was probably curiosity at the unfamiliar touch; Jim always took care of his own horse. 

“He doesn’t really need me underfoot all the time. Things will get back to normal and I’ll get back to…” Well, he’d find something to do, he always did. Perhaps a trip to Chicago while the weather was still good, and then somewhere warm for the winter. He could come back for Christmas and spoil his godchildren, make sure their first time without their mother was something special. He could make tamales as well as roast duck, something Teresa had done every year. 

He could stay, of course. Jim had made the offer more than once; a piece of his land and help building a cabin. He could have a laboratory, a real place for his experiments for the first time in years. A place to hang his hat. Meals with the family every day, nights playing checkers with Jim. He could be content, perhaps, with Jim’s family and a relationship with Nathan. Until Jim started courting again. Until he found love and a mother for the children, and Artie would have to sit back and watch, and find his heart breaking again.

No, staying wasn’t an option. He would leave when summer ended. Perhaps it was time to write to a few old friends in Chicago and see about any casting calls for the autumn.


	7. Dizzy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is Unke Artie going to go away like mama did?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. For various reasons I haven't written hardly anything this year.

“Is Unke Artie going to go away like mama did?” Jim woke to find his daughter sitting cross legged on his bed, her favorite doll covering the pillow that had been his wife’s place. She looked at him with concern in her eyes and her lower lip straining under her teeth, reminding him of when she’d been a baby and had sucked her thumb.

“It’s just a cold, peanut, just like Sam had last year. Remember when he had to miss the Christmas party?” Artie had fought valiantly against the sore throat and cough for two days before admitting defeat and taking to his bed the day before. More than a few members of the community had suffered the same symptoms since the town’s fourth of July celebration the week before.

“He’s been sleepin’ in his bed all day yesterday and still today, just like mama did a’for she went away. I don’t want unka Artie to leave.” Jim could see the tears gathering in his daughter’s eyes. He’d fought a war and worked for the Secret Service for a decade, but nothing had prepared him for his daughter’s tears. He was helpless against them. He sat up and pulled her onto his lap.

“Remember how the doctor had to come all the time to check on your mama, and give her medicine? She was very sick, and even the doctor was worried.” He hadn’t wanted to listen then, hadn’t been able to think about Teresa not recovering. “Artie doesn’t even need a doctor. He just needs to rest up a bit”

“He’s not going away? You promise?” 

“I promise.” He should probably explain again that Artie’s visit would have to end at some point and he would decide to leave, but he didn’t have the heart for it at the moment. Distraction, he decided, was a better idea. “He’ll probably be hungry when he wakes up, bug. Why don’t we go make him something to eat for breakfast? We can make something for you and me and your brother too.”

“Unka Artie cooks better than you do,” Ella informed him as they walked into the kitchen.

“I hope Uncle Artie feels better soon,” Sam agreed. He was sitting at the table eating a piece of bread left over from the day before.

“You two are welcome to make breakfast yourselves,” Jim pointed out. He shouldn’t have been surprised when they took him up on the challenge. Sam actually managed to do the eggs at least as well as Jim would have been able to do them. Ella’s first attempt at toast was less of a success, but she was happy enough to be allowed to spread the jam all by herself when Jim took over toast duty. Along with a bowl of fresh berries they decided to call it a well made breakfast. Ella wanted to carry the tray up the stairs, but fortunately Jim had the idea of adding flowers to the sickroom, and she was more than happy to run out to the garden for a bouquet. At least half were weeds, he was certain, but he was just as sure that Artie wouldn’t care. It was the gesture that mattered.

“We made you breakfast and there isn’t even any black stuff,” Ella announced after their tap on the bedroom door was answered by a muffled “tum im.”

“At least not anymore,” Sam added. Ella didn’t seem to mind the jab at her cooking, too intent at finding just the right place to put her flowers.

“A veritable feast.” Artie’s voice was nasally, but years of practice at speaking through makeup and disguise meant he was still easy to understand. Only Artemus Gordon would enunciate well when he had a cold. “Best if you don’t get too close though, princess. I wouldn’t want you to get sick.”

“Sometimes it’s okay if you get sick, because you get all better real soon. Papa said so.” Ella looked at her honorary uncle expectantly. Even with a fever Artie recognized the need for reassurance.

“I’ll be right as rain in a day or two, I promise. It’s just a cold, and not even as bad as the one I caught after swimming in the bay to catch a dragon.”

“A dragon like the one on your arm?” Sam asked curiously. He was fascinated by Artie’s tattoo. On one visit when he’d been about Ella’s age he’d drawn an almost recognizable dragon on his own arm with a piece of charcoal. Jim wasn’t quite sure what he’d say if Sam ever asked for a tattoo of his own.

“The very same.” Artie patted the sleeve of his pajama top, just above where the dragon lived. Jim had to admit that he had a similar fascination with the tattoo, though for entirely different reasons than his son. Artie had been watching his back, and had a choice of leaving or getting a permanent mark on his body. Jim had never dared asked if he ever regretted the choice.

“Breakfast is on the table, why don’t you both go down? Artie doesn’t need an audience watching him eat.” Ella almost looked like she was going to argue, but Sam whispered something about dragons and she was suddenly happy enough to leave.

“You should go too, Jim. There’s no reason to risk catching this miserable cold.” Artie took a cautious bite of egg, chewing slowly and following it with a sip of coffee.

“I’m pretty sure if I was going to catch anything it would have happened already. Besides, I know how you get when you spend too much time without anyone around. I figured I’d keep you company.” Artie was generally a social creature, finding it far easier than Jim ever had to spend time with people. On the rare occasions they had vacationed separately Jim’s tendency was to head off to the wilderness, while Artie usually spent time in a city, often with a bit of time spent on stage.

“I’m better at being alone than I used to be.” Artie said with a shrug, intently examining his fruit. “Perhaps I’m becoming a hermit in my old age.”

“Perhaps you haven’t found the right people to spend time with.” The last word he’d associate with his friend as hermit. Artie was a friend to everyone he met, though it was true that most people met him as a character, not himself. Still, he had his friends in the theatre, Jim knew, and at least one friend in town. “Speaking of friends, Nathan asked after you.”

“I was supposed to drop off a book of poetry by a new chap named Wilde. It seemed to be something he’d enjoy.” 

“I’m sure he’s more concerned about your health than the book.” Nathaniel Davin had moved to town some five years back, not long after the Parker family had decided to move to Texas and sell their feed and grain store. Davin was a friendly enough man, generally well liked, but Jim had never spent much time with him. Perhaps it was the fact that Artie enjoyed the man’s company that had Jim not-quite avoiding him. Not that he begrudged Artie any other friends, or other people a friendship with Artie. Nathan, however, was a different matter than anyone he’d known. “Artie, are you and Nathan…”

The ensuing bout of coughing might have been caused by a dry bite of toast, but the timing was suspicious. Jim eyed his friend, who seemed to have lost interest in his breakfast. The coughing wasn’t the only thing suspicious; it didn’t take a genius to understand that there was more than friendship between Artie and Nathan, though they both hid it well. It was just as clear that Artie didn’t want to talk about it. Jim had never been one to keep his relationships private, but he knew Artie had reasons to feel differently. He wasn’t quite sure how to let his friend know that he didn’t have to keep things a secret; after so many years of pretending not to notice Jim had reasons of his own to want to talk about the fact that Artie was more interested in relationships with men than with women.

“He’s a nice man.” It was an insipid comment, and didn’t even begin to broach the subject. 

“He’s been a good friend,” Artie said with the same practiced caution he’d used every time Jim had, in the past, mentioned a man that he suspected was more than a friend. “I’m sorry, Jim, but I’m tired. I think I’ll get some sleep.”

“Of course, Artie. Take care.”

II

After almost two days of being in bed Artie was certain he was done being sick. He was bored, feeling guilty about asking for help, and worried that the children were worried about him. By late afternoon he rallied himself and dressed, only stopping once to sit down (and once to cough but he didn’t count that.) He managed the stairs well enough, even if he had to stop once and lean against the wall to ward off a slight case of dizzyness.

The kitchen was empty, dinner more than an hour away. Fortunately someone, probably Jim but possibly Sam, had stacked firewood near the stove and it was easy enough to stoke the fire. He started a pot of water; a little coffee might help him feel better. It was unfortunate that his dizziness chose that moment to return, and his impulse to catch himself meant his hand rested for a moment on the stovetop. It wasn’t the worst burn he’d ever gotten but it accomplished more than the coffee would have in waking him up.

“Damn it, Artie, what are you doing out of bed?” An arm was around his waist before he could think about what he should be doing. He was sitting at the kitchen table before it really registered that his hand was throbbing.

“It’s not that bad,” he said with a frown. He was usually more graceful than that.

“It’s practically frostbite.” Jim knelt before him, tugging his hand away, uncurling his fingers to look at the angry red mark. “It’s going to hurt for a while.”

“There’s some apple cider vinegar in the cabinet that will help. Or even better the whiskey in the decanter.” Perhaps burns were a solution to dizziness, however, as he finally seemed to be able to focus his attention. Throbbing wasn’t a big enough word to describe how his hand was feeling. “I was going to start dinner.”

“You should still be in bed. You look like crap, Artie.” Jim soaked a rag in vinegar before folding it in the neat square and pressing it gently against Artie’s palm. “You’re shaking.”

“Going stir crazy.” He fought to steady his hand, not wanting Jim to think there was a reason to worry. “I’m fine, James. It’s nothing that dinner and a shot of whiskey won’t cure.”

“You’ll have to put up with my cooking for at least another night. No way are you getting near the stove again.” Artie wondered if Jim noticed his hand still cradled Artie’s own wounded paw. He was certainly all too aware of the palm against his skin, seeming almost warmer than the burn. It felt like standing by a fire after spending hours in the cold, almost painfully hot but too comforting to step away.

“At least let me help. I was thinking chicken and dumplings; I could cut up the vegetables.” He’d feel less guilty about the way Jim had been waiting on him for the last couple of days if he could contribute something. Once he wouldn’t have thought of it; being on The Wanderer it was just a part of how they lived. Things were different now; it was Jim’s house and he had the kids to take care of; Artie was supposed to be making things easier and not more complicated.

“I can feel your hand, Artie. No way are you handling a knife. You tell me what needs done and I’ll do it.” 

For just a moment Artie looked at the man kneeling before him and allowed himself to fantasize about the orders he’d like to give. Words that he’d never say, of course, and just thinking them when Jim was that close could get embarrassing. A moment’s dream couldn’t hurt, though, not when he was tired and shaky and probably couldn’t do anything. In his dreams Jim didn’t need much of a hint; when Artie moved the man’s hand to the buttons of his pants he understood quickly. Artie always did love Jim’s nimble fingers.

“Artie?” Jim was frowning.

“We’ll need some carrots and some onions, for starters. If you get me the flour I’ll make the dumplings, I think you can trust me with that much, at least.” Artie tucked away his fantasy for a safer time and pulled himself together. He was clearly more tired than he’d realized, or maybe his visit was already too long. Walls he was usually good at keeping up around Jim were falling around him. Tonight, though, he just needed to get through dinner and then he could crawl back into his bed and sleep. Sleep, perhaps to dream. Dangerous dreams, of a man he would always love and never have.

“Tim for bed, Artie. Just lean on me.” After dinner he’d tried to play a game of checkers with Jim, but Sam had moved most of his pieces and halfway through he’d fallen asleep in the chair. He woke to Jim’s hand wrapped around his forearm, offering him help in standing.

“I’m fine.” But he stumbled when he stood and had to catch himself with his good hand on Jim’s shoulder. For the sake of safety and expediency he’d wrapped an arm around Jim’s neck as they climbed the stairs. A hundred times in their mutual past they’d assisted the other to bed after injury or drunkenness. Damn his mind for making this time feel any different.

“How’s the hand feeling?” Jim asked as they reached his bedroom door.

“I’d almost forgotten.” It was only half a lie; it was sore but far from the worst pain he’d felt.

“No sneaking down in the morning to make breakfast,” Jim admonished. 

“I believe I’ll sleep in tomorrow morning. Might even be lazy and skip breakfast altogether.” He was feeling dizzy again and looking forward to sleep.

“Lazy is just about the last word I’d apply to you. Get some sleep, Artie. If you feel up to it tomorrow you can come down and supervise the construction on the bunk beds. The kids have missed you.”

“I’ve missed them too.” He winced when he opened the door with his bad hand. “G’night Jim.”

“Night Artie. Sweet dreams.”


End file.
